They shook hands and Galusha was invited to come into Mr. Minor’s private office.

“Let me see,” said the latter, “you are—­you are—­ What is your business now?  I did hear, but I’ve forgotten.”

Galusha told of his connection with the National Institute.

“I do—­ah—­archaeological work,” he added.  “Egyptology is my specialty.”

Minor nodded.  “Yes, yes,” he said, doubtfully.  “Just so.”

Plainly he regarded it as a weird sort of business.

“And you are still a—­ah—­banker?” queried Galusha.

“Yes.  Very much so.  I’m second vice president here now.”

“Dear me! dear me!  You have been in this place ever since?  Well, well!”

A pause, during which each regarded the other, trying not to show the pity they felt.  Then Minor asked if there was anything he could do for his former associate.  Galusha explained that he had come to town to see his cousin, Mr. Augustus Cabot, on a business matter.  Mr. Minor was surprised, momentarily.

“That’s so,” he said, “he is a relative of yours, isn’t he?  I had forgotten.”

“Yes, yes, he is.  He—­ah—­you see, he looks after things for me—­ investments and—­all that.”

“Humph!  Well, if you wanted to see him personally, you’re out of luck.  He is away out in the Sierras, somewhere.  Been there for a month and he won’t come back till the doctors tell him he may.  Goodness knows when that will be.”

Cousin Gussie had, it appeared, suffered a severe nervous breakdown.  The physicians had ordered immediate dropping of business and business cares.

“He must drop everything, they said, and cut, if he wanted to head off something a good deal more serious.  He must get out of doors and stay there; go to bed early at night—­instead of early in the morning, which had been more in his line—­and rough it generally.”

“Why—­yes, yes, indeed.  That was almost precisely what the doctors told me I must do.  Rest and—­ah—­good air, you know, and pleasant people. I was very fortunate, really.  I am at—­ah—­Gould’s Bluffs, Cape Cod, you know.”

“Yes?  Well, he’s away out in California or Nevada or thereabouts.  His secretary is with him—­Thomas, the fellow he’s had so many years; you remember him.  Thomas has gone along to see that the chief—­Mr. Cabot, I mean—­doesn’t get any business letters or wires or anything of that sort.  He looks out for those that do come, the personal matters.”

“Oh!  Then perhaps my letter has been forwarded out there.  That would explain why I have received no answer.  Yes, of course.”

“Sure!  Thomas will write you by and by, no doubt.  But now that you are here, why don’t you see Barbour?  Barbour is in charge of the chief’s outside affairs while Thomas is away.  That is, he is in charge of everything that can be handled here.  The most important stuff goes to Thomas, of course.  But come in and see Barbour.  Perhaps he can tell you what you want to know.”